


Aftermath

by dustlines



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Blackwing Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Season/Series 02, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship, Tently
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-03-30 10:48:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13949979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustlines/pseuds/dustlines
Summary: Dirk Gently struggles to overcome the traumas of his past, which have been increasingly difficult to cope with since his return from Wendimoor. Meanwhile, Lt. Assistent has a crisis of conscience and is on the run from Blackwing, while a potentially otherworldly client seeks to hire Dirk for a case that may reveal deeper truths about what Blackwing's ultimate goals are, as well as how those goals might be connected to both Dirk's traumatic past and the crumbling nature of reality itself.A/N: In accordance with suggested s3 canon, will eventually have a Tently pairing, but only after significant lead-up to make it healthy. Friendship fic for now, with a lot of focus on the bond between Todd and Dirk.





	1. "A Panic Thing"

**Author's Note:**

> I like Tently as a ship! It definitely needs some lead-in, though. They barely know each other right now, and they also have history they need to work through first, but I genuinely believe they're going to be good for each other.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirk and Assistent bond over both having severe panic disorders. It’s nice to be around someone who understands.

* * *

 

When Assistent shows up at the detective agency with Dirk's own file from Blackwing, Assistent does not expect forgiveness, nor does his guilt let him feel like he deserves it, and nor does Dirk give it. Assistent only hands Dirk the file, stammers out a thank you for saving his life, promises that he’s trying to be better now, and then leaves the agency, having been completely respectful the entire time.

As soon as Assistent has left, Dirk hurls the file into the trash, because he’s hurt and remembering the past, but later, in the middle of the night, he is woken up by _a feeling_ from the universe, and he tip-toes out to peel the file out of the wire bin.

Under his little green lamp that reminds him of the lamps private detectives always seem to have in the movies, Dirk reads through several long, detailed pieces of paper. His eyes blur with tears from some of what he finds here. There’s incidents of torture that he does not even remember being done to him, but the proof of their having happened is there. Some of his scars make more sense than they did before.

As he reaches the end of the paperwork, the information becomes more recent, and then the final sheet is a list of contacts who might be relevant to himself, as Project Icarus, in the future. He finds an old, Romanian phone number. He finds the numbers of all the Blackwing employees who ever had direct contact with him. He finds out who Bart is in relation to him, and feels his heart jolt in his chest.

He has to put the papers down, cover his face, and breathe deeply. He then looks at the list of contacts again, wondering why Assistent gave him this part. To let Dirk seek revenge, if he chooses to? Or just… to be able to _know_ who has hurt him? So many of Dirk’s nightmares contain blurred faces, and sometimes, that’s more terrifying than anything else about them.

Dirk hides the paperwork at the bottom of his desk drawer, but only after programming a few of the numbers into his phone.

 _The information is appreciated._ Dirk texts Assistent, because he was on that list, too. _You’re not forgiven, though._ Dirk almost turns his phone off, because it’s well past 3:00 AM and he expects not to get a response until morning, but it buzzes in his hand.

_I will never forgive myself, either. I will help with anything you need, or I will disappear. Whatever you want, it’s fine._

Dirk feels his anger flop inside his gut like a swallowed fish, gradually weakening to a dim, trembling fear of his own memories. He stares at the phone for a long time, then types out, _you let them hurt me_

Dirk does not hit send. He backspaces it instead, and as he’s about to type… he does not even know what… maybe nothing, the phone buzzes in his hand as Assistent texts, _If even I’m having nightmares, I’m scared about what must be happening to you._

Dirk’s throat tightens up. He blinks the tears from his eyes from what he saw in his file. He doesn’t just have nightmares. Sometimes he can hardly get through a day without having some kind of flashback. Todd and Farah have both expressed concerns, but Dirk hasn’t wanted to tell them what he’s been through. If they know, they’ll never look at him the same way again. He does not want them to know. He does not want anyone who does not _already_ know to know.

Again, the phone buzzes as Assistent texts, _You don’t have to answer, but I hope you’re okay._

Dirk debates heavily how to respond, or even if he should respond. The detective agency around him feels very confining, suddenly. There are moving boxes still unopened on the ground around his desk, and he knows Mona is off in the local park being a bench tonight. Farah is sleeping in her bedroom, and Todd is sleeping in his.

In what is perhaps a moment of insanity, Dirk types out, _I can’t talk to anyone about what happened to me._

He almost has a heart attack after he’s realized he hit send, but just puts the phone down on his desk and tries to calm his frantic heartbeat by getting a glass of water from the kitchen. He leans against the humming fridge for several seconds, with his cup held up to cool his forehead. He feels the shadow of electricity pulsing through his skull, and the tight grip of restraints around his arms and legs. He feels, sometimes, like there is something trying to tear out of his skin.

After calming himself down, Dirk comes back to his desk, just as another text lights up the screen.

_You can… talk to me? If you want? I mean, it’s my fault._

Dirk sits on the edge of his desk and holds his phone. Aside from the dim green lamp behind him, it’s the room’s only light.

He has a feeling he won’t be able to sleep any more tonight. His thoughts are too frantic, too painful, and too much. He’s spinning, and has been spinning, ever since… ever since… Priest…

 _Where are you?_ Dirk texts.

Assistent texts back, _What?_

Dirk texts, _Your location. You’re going to listen to me._

 _Yes._ Assistent texts, and then immediately a second text follows: an address, and a room number. _Motel,_ Assistent clarifies, then adds, _Wait, do you mean now?_

Dirk doesn’t answer. He closes the messenger app and opens a map program instead. Maybe he’ll go there, and maybe he won’t. He'll find out on the way. He shuffles into his jacket and wipes his wet face down with the back of his hand, then makes sure to close and lock the door to the agency behind him as he goes.

Feeling far more subdued than he should be, he gets into the van outside that still has “AmbooLents” painted onto its side and starts driving.

Most of the drive goes by in a blur, Dirk barely registering how he gets to the motel where Assistent is staying until he eventually finds himself in front of a peeling, gray-painted door. He knocks only once on it before it opens. Assistent is standing there, dressed in baggy clothes and with hair he has clearly frantically swept down from a messy state. The motel is one of the cheapest ones around, the sort that looks like it still has black and white TVs with rabbit antenna in most of the rooms, and carpet rubbed down almost all the way to the cement floors beneath.

“I need – “ The words, oddly, get stuck in Dirk’s throat. He presses a hand to his eyes and looks down. A breath later, Dirk feels strong enough to continue, “I don’t want people to know, but since you already know, you –”

Assistent nods frantically. “Okay, um. Yeah, I’m just. You want… uh, water? Sorry, I’m not dressed. All I have is my uniform, and I thought you wouldn’t want to see –”

“No.” Dirk resists a shudder. “Definitely not.”

“Um, okay, come in? Maybe? If you want?” He steps back to give Dirk space to enter the room, and Dirk sticks his hands in his pockets and shuffles in.

Dirk experiences only a brief surge of panic as Assistent shuts the door behind him, not comfortable with being trapped, but Assistent’s quiet hesitation and careful distance in response is enough for Dirk to calm himself and sit down on the rumpled, blue and white sheets covering Assistent’s single bed.

Nervously, Assistent sits down on the chair on the opposite side of the room, and folds his hands in his lap. He doesn’t keep them there for long, because he shakily runs a hand through his hair, but then returns to tightly clasping them together in his lap.

“Are you… shaking?” Dirk says, almost thinking out loud because this surprises him. “Why are _you_ shaking?”

Assistent gestures feebly with his hand, but makes no move to come any closer. “You’re… you’re shaking, too.”

“I’m _scared,_ ” Dirk spits out, surprised at his own anger. He curls his hands in the blankets below him and tries to remind himself that anger is usually just fear, intensified. “I’ve had a little trouble with that, ever since _Blackwing_. Constant _torture_ tends to do that to a person. I can barely ever even _sleep_.”

Assistent nods, unsteadily. “I know, I know,” he mumbles, but more like he can barely speak than like he’s being dismissive. His eyes seem a bit glossy, but he blinks that away and gestures again at Dirk. “You… you want to talk?”

Dirk stares at Assistent from across the room for a long moment. On the nightstand, there is an alarm clock so old and decrepit that Dirk can hear it buzzing faintly in the air. The walls are bare, save for a small mirror set up above what is _definitely_ an old TV from the late 90s. There’s no personal effects that Dirk can see anywhere, except a pair of black shoes, apparently kicked off in disregard by the door.

“Are you hiding from someone?” Dirk asks, after a moment. His connection to the universe isn’t giving him a lot of clues, but this question, for some reason, seems important. “This looks like a _hiding_ kind of situation.”

Assistent runs a shaky hand through his hair again, and says, “This… this isn’t about me. You need to talk, so I’m – “

“Who are you hiding from?”

Assistent huffs out what is definitely not – but is almost – a self-deprecating laugh. “It’s… it’s fine. Don’t worry. It’s just – “

“ _Who?_ ” Dirk demands.

Assistent looks down at the floor, then brings his hands back together again. “Blackwing?”

It’s phrased as a question, but it is obviously not. Dirk is torn between a weird, sudden sympathy, and a vague panic. He gets up from the bed quickly. “And you texted the location where you are?” he gasps.

Assistent’s eyes widen. He jumps up from his chair. “Oh, god. I didn’t even think. This was…” He shakes his arms up and down. “I’ve never been on the run before. I don’t know what to do.”

“Leave your phone,” Dirk says, gesturing widely. “Grab… whatever else you… clearly don’t seem to have… and let’s go. You’re probably getting tracked, and I do _not_ want to get captured because of you!”

Assistent nods frantically. He runs for the door, throwing his phone onto the ground at the same time that he scoops up his shoes and runs out of the motel room, barefoot.

Dirk rolls his eyes and runs after him. His own trauma is momentarily forgotten in the face of how monumentally incompetent even Blackwing employees could be sometimes, though it is true that many of the people Friedkin hired were not as up to par in general evilness as the people Dirk knew as a kid.

“The van!” Dirk yells, as Assistent nearly runs out of the moonlit parking lot and into the road.

“Which??” Assistent yells back, still clutching his shoes to his chest. He looks almost as panicked as Dirk has been these last several days. There’s only two vehicles in the entire parking lot, and one is up on a jack because it’s missing two of its wheels.

“The one with the stupid word painted on it!” Dirk yells back, in a tone that says _obviously_.

Assistent frantically runs back and jumps into the passenger’s seat as Dirk jumps into the driver’s seat and turns the key to start the engine.

“I can’t _believe_ I’m saving _you_!” Dirk says, as he pulls the van out of the parking lot and picks a random direction to drive in.

In the passenger seat, Assistent is breathing heavily, his eyes wide and his shoes still held up close to his chest. He looks like he’s about to implode. “Do you,” he stammers, “do you still want to talk? Because I-I’m listening, I swear. I swear. If you need someone to listen who already knows, I’m–I’m listening.”

“First, you need to breathe.” Dirk smacks the steering wheel and then rubs at the space between his eyes. “This is,” Dirk mumbles to himself, with a breathy laugh, “well, this is just typical, is what it is.”

“I want to listen,” Assistent mumbles, in a teary voice, still shaking.

“Shit,” Dirk hisses. He turns the heater on so that the van is a little less chilly.

“I deserve to listen,” Assistent continues, seeming like he’s only half-aware of where he is. He exhales, and it sounds almost like the beginning of a sob.

Awkwardly, Dirk reaches across the seat and pats Assistent on the arm. “Calm down,” he says, “you’ll have plenty of time for that.”

Assistent breaks. “I’m a horrible person.” He clutches his shoes even tighter, pressing them against a shirt so ill-fitting that Dirk is pretty sure Assistent salvaged it from a lost and found somewhere. “I deserve everything bad that’s ever happened to me, and–”

“No one deserves that,” Dirk interrupts. The road before them is dim. The place where Assistent had been staying is quite far away from society, and had taken Dirk roughly an hour to drive to.

“You don’t.” Assistent covers his mouth with the toes of his shoes, pressing his lips against the leather as if to stop them from trembling. There are tears gleaming in his eyes. “S-sorry,” he says, “I’m usually medicated. Had to… leave it behind. P-panic… thing. Just… sorry, I know it’s… annoying.”

Dirk shakes his head, and turns when he reaches a light that leads down a road a little closer to civilization. He feels the urge to offer comfort, but then remembers Assistent worked in Blackwing. A moment after, he then thinks – with a brief glance to the terrified mess sitting beside him and considering how closely that fear response has mimicked so many of Dirk’s own panicking breakdowns in the past – that this is what Blackwing does to people.

Dirk breathes in through his teeth. “I should probably be on something, too.”

Assistent shuts his eyes and lets go of his shoes with one hand so that he can carefully reach across the seat, like Dirk had, to pat Dirk even more awkwardly on the arm. “Maybe… maybe try talking first.” He swallows audibly. “Sometimes… sometimes it’s enough.”

Dirk frowns at him, and Assistent, unaware, pulls his arm back and leans against the door. He looks so small and pathetic in his state of distress, and Dirk worries that he might look the same in his own. If he does, it makes sense why Todd sometimes looks at him with those wide-eyed, intensely worried looks.

“Maybe we’ll both talk,” Dirk concedes, after a moment. He says so quietly, but Assistent still shrugs a shoulder as he leans heavily against the door.

“It’s not about me,” Assistent says, weakly.

“No, it’s about Blackwing,” Dirk says, “and the awful things it does to anyone who goes near it.”

Assistent nods weakly against the door. “This is unfair to you,” he says, still trying to keep the focus on Dirk.

“It’s been unfair to both of us, it seems.” Dirk keeps his eyes on the road, and sighs. “There’s a blanket behind the seat, if you need it.”

Assistent swivels his arm around behind his seat until he finds it, and then pulls it over himself. “I do want to listen,” he says, somewhat repetitively now. “I mean, really, I do.”

Dirk doesn’t know how to respond, but the weird thing is, he’s pretty sure that now he wants to listen to Assistent’s story, too.

What a strange thing to happen.

“You’re still shaking,” Assistent says. He puts out his hand, touches Dirk’s hand on the wheel, and then yanks it back, almost like an afterthought, like it took him a delayed second to realize it might be weird to do.

“It’s a panic thing,” Dirk says, very quietly, in echo of Assistent’s earlier statement. “Just something that happens sometimes.”

“It sucks.” Assistent shuffles under his blanket, and breathes deeply. Dirk recognizes the pattern as a calming one. “It really sucks.”

Dirk tightens his shaking hands around the wheel, and feels the universe try to whisper something to him. He does not know what it is, but it feels important.

His friends are going to have a lot of questions when Dirk brings a former Blackwing agent into the agency, but he’ll have to deal with that when he comes to it.

For now, Dirk just drives back home, and hopes, like the man sitting beside him, that they can end up somewhere safe.

 

[TBC]

 

[(Go here to read how we can still #SaveDirkGently)](https://dustlines.tumblr.com/post/171755939864/responding-to-kajaonos-post-here-be-impossible)


	2. Worried Sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All that Todd knows for sure is that Dirk snuck out without telling anyone, and then came back with an unknown Blackwing agent practically glued to his heels, and neither of those facts suits Todd's definition of a stress-free night.

* * *

 

With Assistent meekly tagging along behind him, Dirk returns to the detctive agency to find Todd and Farah speaking frantically to each other inside the main office. When Dirk shuts the door behind him, Todd whips his head around at the sound.

"Dirk!" he shouts, and relief visibly surges across his face. "You're back!"

"See? I told you he's fine," Farah assures, with her hands barely touching Todd's shoulders. "Now, listen, you need to _calm down_ now, or you'll have an attack."

"I'm really okay," Todd says to her, but still scrambles over to Dirk. "You scared us! You didn't leave a note on the whiteboard or anywhere, and we have _talked_ about this!" Todd's gaze falls without any recognition on Assistent, who awkwardly lifts a hand to wave. No one else had been in the detective agency when Assistent had shown up yesterday, and only Dirk had ever seen him in Blackwing. This is why it isn't a surprise when Todd points and says, "Who are you?" He glances at Dirk's hand around Assistent's upper arm, blinks, and then looks to Dirk for an explanation.

Dirk gestures with his free hand to indicate the man standing beside him. "This is Michael Assistent. I met him when he was working at Blackwing."

The response is immediate. Todd steps closer to Assistent and _shoves_ him, which is not actually as effective as Assistent's own startled leap, which causes him to crash against the closed door behind him. As he does so, Farah draws a gun from some hidden pocket in her bathrobe and stalks closer, her jaw locked in immediate anger. Assistent makes no move to retaliate, except to yelp, raise both of his hands in panic, and partially duck behind Dirk.

"Everyone, stop!" Dirk goes to stand in front of Assistent the rest of the way. To Farah, he repeats, "Stop! _Please_ , put that away. Listen to me; I'll repeat it: he's a _former_ \- listen - a _former_ agent."

Farah seems unsure and still watches Assistent over Dirk's shoulder, even as she slowly tucks her gun back into the hidden side holster beneath her bathrobe. "Dirk," Farah says, very carefully, "how sure are you of that?"

"What if he's _lying_ to you?" Todd takes Farah's side, with a wild gesture to point at Assistent, who is still halfway cowering behind Dirk's back and peeking out around his side. "Former or not, how can you trust someone from there?" He breathes in the tightly controlled way Dirk has come to expect from Todd trying to manage his stress against becoming a pararibulitis attack, and then says to Dirk, "Why is he in our home?"

"I can't definitively answer _all_ of those questions," Dirk says, "I can only tell you that there is enough to _reasonably_ extrapolate that his presence is not an active threat to any of us." Dirk pauses, then adds, "In _fact_ of _point_ , almost certainly he is less of a threat than my own presence is. He simply needs a place to stay tonight, and I offered him that."

Apparently not entirely swayed by Dirk's assurances, Todd tosses an irritated glance around Dirk so he can snap at Assistent, "Before I can see that as a good idea, do you have _any_ concept of what Blackwing has done? What it's still _doing_ , to actual, living,  _feeling_ human beings?"

"Oh my god, I know too much!" Assistent shouts. His arms shake as he draws them up to make fists under his chin. "I saw the _worst_ things! Like, _so bad_. I can't even begin to tell you how _messed up_ that place is, and what happened to people there was-"

Dirk smothers Assistent's mouth with his palm, and with a muffled sound, Assistent is quieted.

The cords in Assistent's neck flex as he swallows and glances at Dirk. Dirk stares levelly at him, and Assistent seems to realize that means _don't you dare give details_ , which Assistent nods to. Pulling back from Dirk's hand, he gasps in a full breath, and then continues, "Of course I don't have to stay here. I can go. I can find a..." Assistent pauses, and his eyes widen, and his mouth goes slack, and he seems to remember he has nowhere else to go, for he simply trails off and says, "...park... bench."

Todd's eyebrows lift as he takes a step back, and Farah frowns slightly deeper, both of them seeming to be trying very hard to process what they have just heard. It certainly does not line up with their perception of other Blackwing agents they've met, like Priest, whose even brief interaction with Dirk they've had to watch Dirk suffer the post-traumatic fallout of for over a month now.

Before the silence can turn on him, Dirk says quietly, "Perhaps... of greater relevance to this conversation, he _personally_ helped us save Wendimoor. When I came through the portal, I was almost immediately getting shot at." Dirk gestures vaguely at Assistent. "He actually did get shot, in the _head_ , but he still helped me get to Mona." Dirk turns his arm to gesture at a desk chair in the room that he does not remember being there before, under the assumption that the chair is Mona, having returned earlier than anticipated. "If he had not been there, she might have remained in that prison cell, surrounded by agents," He swallows, somewhat unsteady about looking back on this without adrenaline shielding him from the terror of it, and spits out, "with-with _guns_ still all pointed at her head."

Both Todd and Farah seem to need a moment to take that in, but Farah, at least, does relax from her initial defensive posture. That doesn't necessarily mean anything with her, as Dirk has learned that she's pretty much always ready for one kind of knockout punch or another, if the mood calls for it.

"All right," she says, while Todd seems to be trying to absorb answers through Dirk's gaze alone, "If Dirk has that to say about you, I suppose that's enough to earn you the right to explain yourself." She crosses her arms and addresses Assistent, "Tell us your story."

Straightening his back, but still looking quite unsteady, Assistent leans against the door and takes a short, quick breath. "I," he stammers, flustered, "well, I did help him with that, but that doesn't _excuse_ me from anything else I did. In fact, I tried to stop him first. I was – I was _there_ during so many things, for _months_ , but even though I should have done something, _anything_ , I did _nothing_. I had a... a situation, and... and wasn't thinking clearly half the time, but..." His eyes flicker downwards, and he grits his teeth. Dirk sees a flash of intense pain - possibly shame? - hidden behind this expression, but still, Assistent does not elaborate. He only huffs a single, self-depreciating laugh, and then rubs at his face. "But that's a horrible excuse," he continues. "Being there was horrible. It was like I _knew_ the whole thing was _not normal_ , you know? But everyone kept _acting_ like it was, so I just -" He seems to be exploding under the skin. Breathing harder, he expands both of his arms widely. "I just ended up _telling myself it must be normal_ , like some kind of _idiot_ , because... because." His face twists. He closes his eyes and then opens them up again to say, "It took me _so long_ to even realize what I was a part of, and it shouldn't have taken that long, because it was _obvious_ , and... and it's so... dumb. It's _so dumb_." He lowers his voice to a nearly inaudible level, and Dirk hears him gasp out, as a near-hysterical breath, "I'm so stupid." Before anyone can respond, Assistent waves at Dirk. "I'm not even sure why  _he's_ helping me, after what I _didn't do_ to help him when-"

"Stop it," Dirk snaps, while turning to face Assistent. Dirk feels hot around the collar, a little too much happening at once. He's not usually an angry or intensely reactive person, but he's felt very close to the surface lately, like a boiling kettle trying to push its lid off. He grits his teeth and feels his jaw shiver as he hisses through them, "Don't _talk_ about that." He can see Todd and Farah getting progressively alarmed by the quick escalation of emotion in this conversation, but they're mostly still just listening, so Dirk takes a steadying breath before continuing, "If you think I was not aware of the various roles that each guard and associated figure played in my captivity, and your relatively _tame_ _,_ practically _background_ position in comparison, you should know you were hardly anything like the–"

"I _signed off_ on some of those experiments!" Assistent bends over slightly from the force of his hysteria. "You _saw_ my name on the paperwork I gave you!"

A hush falls. Dirk grits his teeth and looks to the side, knowing that now Todd or Farah is inevitably going to ask "What paperwork?" and then Dirk's going to have to reveal the evidence of all the horrible things he's been put through.

"Wait," Todd says, still sounding angry, but slightly more subdued about it now. Dirk tenses up, knowing this is it: this is when Todd is going to make Dirk talk about what Blackwing did to him. This is when it starts, when Todd and Farah will never again look at Dirk as anything more than a damaged, traumatized mess again, but instead Todd points at Assistent and says, "You're _also_ trying to talk Dirk out of letting you stay here. This wasn't your idea."

Assistent blinks, rapidly. At his sides, his fingers flutter nervously as he nods in agreement. " _Listen_. I could be followed. I _know_ I could be. My being  _here_ is a risk Dirk shouldn't be taking, and – "

"Dirk." Todd mouths the name without any sound, as though talking to himself. Dirk starts to answer, but Todd lifts a hand. "No, I wasn't – " He pauses. "A guy from Blackwing used your actual name."

Assistent looks wildly amidst the three people who are practically penning him in against the door. "Was I – was I not supposed to? Is that a name only your friends can say, or – "

"It's fine," Dirk says. With a sigh, he starts peeling his jacket off. He's starting to feel like he's overheating, way too much going on under his skin that he can't stop the reactions of. "It would've been a problem if you hadn't, in point of fact."

Tired of standing – in fact, just tired in general – Dirk goes over to sling his jacket over the room's new chair and sit down on it. In response, the chair seems to grow even softer and more supportive, which he is grateful for. In front of him, Todd and Assistent stand facing each other at the door, Assistent significantly more nervous than Todd now that Dirk is no longer standing between them, with Farah turned a little to the side to watch Dirk instead. It occurs to Dirk, then, that if he hadn't been alone in the agency when Assistent dropped off the records he'd stolen from Blackwing, Assistent might never have gotten close enough to do so. Timing, Dirk thinks, is something the universe likes to tease him with, and speaking of that...

Dirk gestures vaguely in the air and says, "I think the universe wants him here."

Todd and Assistent turn to look at him, both of them at the exact same second and with the same shocked expression as they simultaneously say, "It _does?_ "

Dirk blinks at that, and Todd turns to Assistent and blinks at that, and Assistent stares back at Todd in a shocked, wide-eyed stupor, apparently not too used to coincidence in his life. Meanwhile, Farah rolls her eyes and outright just walks past Todd to grip Assistent's arm. Still at a high-energy, intensely reactive level of emotion, Assistent flinches enormously at the touch, but still lets himself be led away from the door as Farah opens it, and then through it as Farah drags him into the hallway.

"You two, talk this out," she says, as she points between Dirk and Todd. "I'll talk to him."

Assistent can be seen gulping just before Farah shuts the door behind them, leaving just Todd and Dirk in the detective agency... plus, Dirk supposes, Mona as a chair.

Todd stands in front of the closed door for a brief moment, clenching his hands at his sides, and then it's like a string has been cut. His shoulders sag and he puts his head into his hands, and he stands there for several seconds, just breathing into his palms.

"Dirk," Todd says, and he sounds like his voice is having a very hard time deciding if it wants to be upset, or calming, or some chaotic mixture of both. Mostly, Todd just sounds sad, and like he doesn't know what to do.

Dirk watches him guiltily across the room. "I should've left a note," he says, assuming this is part of what is causing Todd so much stress, but knowing there's a lot more to it. If their roles had been reversed, and Todd had been the one to sneak out unannounced, Dirk would've been in an outright panic until he'd found him again. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking, like last time. I'm not good at this whole... people wanting to know I'm safe... thing."

Todd lowers his hands and walks over to crouch in front of Dirk. Balancing on the balls of his feet, Todd folds his hands in front of his mouth, looks up, and then says, "Could you even tell if this is you, trying to prove something to yourself that you don't have to prove? That it's not you trying to... punish yourself, or..." He falters, but finds the words to continue, softly, "or _hurt_ yourself? Somehow? And do you think you would be _able_ to tell, if that's what this is?"

Dirk's stomach aches. He looks down at Todd, and he's not quite sure what to say. He wonders: _is_ this him trying to prove something to himself? _Is_ he trying to convince himself he can handle being around evidence of what hurt him in the past, or at least... around someone who was aware of it, when he was being hurt? Even if only for a little while? It's possible, but...

"Would it be bad if I was?" he whispers, nervously. There's no lights on in the room, but it's still no longer as dim as it was when Dirk left it hours ago in a state of near-uncontrolled panic, and he can see evidence of sunrise starting to shine through the windows behind him, glimmering as reflected light in Todd's eyes. "Not... not trying to hurt myself, but just... trying to work through it."

Todd bites his lower lip, an expression of profound sadness flickering across his face. "Do you think you can't work through it with us?"

Dirk's hands feel unsteady. He puts them together in his lap and holds on. "I think," he says, still very quietly, "I just need someone around who already knows."

Todd's eyebrows lift a little. "That sounds like you asking for more than one night."

Dirk sits quietly, realizing that maybe he is saying that, though he has no idea what Assistent's other options are for places to live at right now. As he has this realization, he feels soothed by the presence of two people nearby who care about him. He takes in a long, deep breath, and then nods. "I think... possibly? Yes. If that's... fine."

Todd looks for a moment like he might protest, but then he rubs a hand down his tired face and then shrugs. "Look, Dirk, it's your call. I can't decide this for you. I can only have this conversation, to make sure it's what you want, before we all agree to it."

Something stirs in Dirk's gut: relief, possibly? He's not sure. "You would agree to this?"

"Very, very cautiously." Todd frowns, and puts his hands down to brace on his knees. He looks down at the floor and sighs. "I'll admit, the guy doesn't look or act like what I expect Blackwing agents to act like, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything, and I'm gonna watch him like a hawk."

Dirk feels himself start to smile, slightly beyond his control. Grateful to not be alone, he reaches out to pat Todd's shoulder, but pulls back before Todd can feel how badly Dirk has been shaking. He thinks, possibly, sleep deprivation is starting to affect him more than he thought. He also can't quite remember when he last ate anything.

"I just need to know one thing first," Todd says. He brings his hands back up to his chin and leans on them. He still hasn't gotten up from the floor, every inch of his body language nonthreatening as he looks up to ask, "Do you feel even a _little_ unsafe around him?"

Dirk tilts his head to the side, thinking, and then says, "No. He's not going to hurt us. He's just scared."

"Scared?" Todd seems to find that interesting, revealing, or some other feeling that's hard for Dirk to read. Todd does not elaborate, but his face _does_ change in response, becoming less... nervous? And more... sympathetic. "You're going to tell us if you start thinking otherwise, though, right?" Todd continues, "Or even if you don't have  _that_ feeling, you'll tell us if we need to get him out, right? You don't need a good reason."

Dirk nods. His throat feels too tight to speak. He's still not used to other people looking out for him, even though he's had access to it for over a month now. Not knowing how to respond makes him feel a bit claustrophobic, even if it's just a conversation, and even if it is with someone he trusts completely. The topic is simply too close to what he doesn't feel able to talk about, and his re-exposure earlier that night to the information Blackwing had gathered about what they'd done to him in their experiments is weighing heavily on his shoulders.

Todd stands up and puts his hands on top of Dirk's hands, squeezing them tightly. "I know you've been going through something for a while now, Dirk. I know you've got stuff you don't want to talk about, and you're allowed that. You just need to keep us in the know for what you need, and what we can do to help you, even if stuff comes up that you can't tell us about."

Dirk swallows, and it hurts. Things have been hurting so much lately. He looks down to hide his reaction from Todd, while under him, Dirk feels the chair start to shift.

Pushed upwards unexpectedly as Mona transforms out of the chair form she has been in, Dirk finds himself launched into a standing position and then pushed into Todd's arms, where Todd wraps his own arms around Dirk's back and braces his chin over his shoulder to hug him.

After a brief, shocked breath, Dirk takes a moment to compose and orient himself before he can really start to feel the quiet, unforced affection being given to him. He feels a second set of arms from behind as Mona slips her arms around his stomach and presses her head softly against his back.

"Assistent's nice," she says, her voice very soft. "I like him."

This is obviously something Todd needed to hear, for the tension in his body loosens considerably, just before he pulls mostly away from Dirk, but still keeps one hand on his shoulder to hold Dirk's attention as he looks him in the eye.

"Are you okay?" Todd asks, completely sincere. "No spinning feeling?"

Behind Dirk, Mona is still hugging him, her body so relaxed against his spine that it feels like she could just go on hugging him forever. It feels less like an embrace, and more like being surrounded by a pillow that can hold him up when he's too weak to stand. To answer Todd's question, Dirk nods, to which Todd nods back, almost like he's mirroring him.

"Okay," Todd says, with a sigh that sounds like he's trying to clear out from his lungs whatever tension has been gathering inside of them. "I'm going to let him back in now, and we'll figure out where he's sleeping. Maybe the couch. Are you still sleeping on the floor in my room?"

It's felt like the safest place in Dirk's entire world, ever since he got shot in the leg and could barely walk for weeks, much less escape anyone who might come after him, like Priest, so Dirk's answer is yes, which he nods to indicate, because talking is too hard to manage at the moment. He's mostly over his injuries from his last visit to Blackwing, but the habit of needing to feel safe when going to sleep has lingered, and he's lucky Todd doesn't seem to mind.

"I'll set him up on the couch, then." Todd slips his hand off of Dirk's shoulder and goes over to open the door, which he leans outside of for about a minute, presumably talking to Farah outside.

It's at this point that Dirk realizes he's not going to be able to talk about anything at all for a while. His voice just won't come out of him.

As Dirk is realizing this, Farah walks in to the agency first, her hand still gripping Assistent's upper arm, and him following her without even a shred of resistance. He makes eye contact with Dirk as he steps back into the building, seeming confused out of his mind and extremely nervous. Dirk can't imagine what Farah has threatened him with if he causes a scene or harms anyone here, but Dirk is quite sure it was probably a graphic and very honest threat. Even so, Dirk lifts a thumb into the air to indicate everything's going to be fine... probably.

When it's up in the air, Dirk's hand shakes so hard he can barely keep it up, and, in horror, he lowers it almost immediately. Nobody says anything about it, but they don't have to. Remembering Mona is still gently wrapped around his back, Dirk pats her arms gently until she lets him go, and then he turns around to go walk to the pile of blankets he has on the floor in Todd's bedroom, where he's probably going to bury himself and stare at the wall until his organs stop feeling like they want to crawl up through his throat.

"Is he okay?" Dirk hears Assistent ask quietly, just before Dirk is too far out of the room to stop hearing them.

Dirk doesn't stay long enough to hear how anyone answers the question, because he already knows the answer, and he's running from it as fast as he can.

 

 

~TBC

~2018/03/15

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys. I just want to say here:
> 
> If you've built up to the same spot I'm at, and you're angry, and you agree, maybe it's time to follow BBC AMERICA on Twitter, Facebook, or any other social platform you use, and start politely but firmly telling them on all of the statuses or tweets they post that because they canceled Dirk Gently, you're going to contact your cable companies and ask them to drop BBC America from your subscription, because there's no other reason to watch BBC America. Like any comments you see of anyone else doing so.
> 
> No special tags added. This is just you talking, and them listening. Be honest, polite, and follow through if you can. Let it build. They're a smaller platform in the cable world, and they need us to keep going. We'll see what happens if they start losing us.
> 
> Good luck.


	3. Shockwaves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A calming, domestic moment in the detective agency is interrupted by a terrifying premonition, followed by the brutal crash landing of a saucer-shaped object several miles away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: A ton of love and thanks to [princessparadox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessparadox), who helped me brainstorm so much life into this story! You're amazing, lovely, and your help has been invaluable.
> 
> CW for this chapter: some descriptions of injury and a bit of blood (I promise it'll be okay, though! ♥).

* * *

 

Dirk wakes up to the pull of two competing interests: a wafting, sugary smell from the kitchen down the hall, and a squeezing, heavy pressure in the center of his chest. Dragging himself from his blanket pile and then out of Todd's room, Dirk stands in the hallway and feels his heart race. It's accompanied by a breathless sensation he's all too familiar with: one of something _about to happen_ , a sense that he is about to be dragged into something terrible, the likes of which can only be escaped by seeing it through to the end. Whatever is causing this, it hasn't gotten here yet, but it's _coming_.

Trying to feel out how urgently he needs to be concerned, he closes his eyes and takes a breath. Once, Todd had told him that if he can't avoid what life pulls him into, all he _can_ do is try to take it as it comes, and try not to be afraid of what has not yet happened, because no matter what it feels like on its way, Dirk can still change things about the outcome. He just has to breathe, pay attention, and try to avoid falling into a tailspin.

"Dirk?" a voice calls out from down the hallway, and Dirk opens his eyes to see Farah at the end of the hallway, holding a yellow plate of half-eaten pancakes. "Did you get some sleep?" she asks, caringly. "Todd made lunch, if you're hungry."

Dirk's chest aches in a way separate from his innate connection to the fabric of reality. He smiles and nods, and accepts that it seems like he has a small grace period before the universe's warnings come to pass.

"Okay," Farah says, while stepping back into the kitchen. "We're all in here when you're ready."

Dirk looks down at himself, noting the Mexican Funeral shirt he'd changed into before sleeping, as well as his bare feet. Deciding he'll put a bit of effort into his appearance today, he goes back into Todd's bedroom and takes clothes out of his backpack to change into. He emerges in a favorite outfit: dark red slacks, crisp white button-up shirt, a black tie with tiny pineapples on it, and the yellow leather jacket Farah had surprised him with to replace the one Blackwing had stolen from him. His brown leather shoes pad softly down the hallway as he joins Todd and Farah in the brightly lit kitchen.

"Dirk!" Todd glances up and down Dirk's body, clearly relieved to see Dirk putting thought into his appearance today. It's not that Todd requires it of him, but more that Dirk has been too tired lately to care much, and that tiredness has been what Todd is bothered by most. "You up for banana or chocolate chip pancakes?"

"Ohh!" Dirk says. "Can I have both?" There's no chairs in the kitchen, so Dirk hops up on the counter beside Farah, who is already sitting there, and accepts the bright green plate Todd hands him.

Todd approaches the fridge. "Whipped cream?"

Dirk feels the knot in his chest soften, even if only a little. With a nod and an attempt at a broad smile, he holds out his plate to accept the pancakes Todd slips onto it, followed by the _fzzzzp!_ of the whipped cream can, and the metallic _pllink!_ of a fork being laid atop the plate. He and Farah eat their pancakes in companionable silence for a little while as Todd sets up the sink by the window to soak the pan he made the pancakes in, as well as a few other dishes.

"So..." Todd pours a dollop of orange dish soap into the sink, "Michael seems terrified of us. He's out with Mona in the front office. She's the only one he's not flinching around. Do we need to know something about that?"

Dirk chews his pancakes thoughtfully. "He's off his medication. I don't think it's you."

Farah furrows her brow. She's only sitting a few inches away from Dirk on the counter, but they're not touching. "His medication?"

"Some kind of panic disorder,'" Dirk clarifies, hoping that avoiding eye contact will keep this uncomfortably relatable topic from turning to him next. He scrapes some of the whipped cream on his plate together so he can lick it up as he says, "As long as I've known him, he's been more nervous than most." He rubs at his nose when some of the whipped cream gets on it.

"Even in..." Farah pauses, then says, "...even where you were when you met?"

"Noticeably so," Dirk says. He finishes the chocolate chip pancake on his plate and moves on to the banana pancake, all without making eye contact. "He never seemed comfortable there."

Todd and Farah exchange glances. They at first seem to accept this, until Todd clears his throat and mumbles down into the soapy water of the sink, "He was still there, though."

Dirk can't argue that, though he doesn't feel terribly swayed by it, given how terrified of being found by Blackwing Michael seems to be now. He shrugs, then changes the subject. "Listen, I think we're about to have a case."

"Really?" Farah scrapes a bit of banana pancake around in the maple syrup on her plate. "The agency isn't even officially open yet. You only just started being able to walk without pain like a week ago, Dirk. There's still boxes here to unpack."

Dirk laughs without mirth. "That is more time than I am typically permitted, Farah. These things tend not to _particularly_ care about my present state of affairs."

Todd rolls his eyes upwards, like he's addressing some secretive force of power in the sky. "No kidding."

Dirk shrugs and makes a "hmm" noise. He finishes the rest of his pancakes with an insistent stabbing of his fork. Something about that feels good, so he stabs the plate again, harder, and then pretends he was just scooping up the last bit of his pancake when Farah lifts her eyebrows at him. He nonchalantly eats the last bite, and then thanks Todd when Todd reaches for the plate to add it to the rest of the dishes in the soapy water. "I just think we need to be prepared," he comments, as Todd runs water over the green plate. Several other plates are already in there: a purple one, and a red one, too, along with some matching mugs. They're all been pretty accommodating of Dirk's appreciation for colors in the residential areas of the workplace. "The cases I end up on often present themselves rather dramatically at their onset."

"Are you... uh, I mean, do you think you're feeling up to having a case right now?" Todd asks. He's moving his hands slowly under the water, perhaps carefully trying to avoid startling himself with the prick of a fork, or anything else sudden that could trigger a pararibulitis attack. They've happened less frequently since Todd has been able to maintain a regular schedule for his medication, but caution still colors many ordinary things that he does.

Dirk consults the dread in his chest: that nameless sensation of fear he has known since childhood as a portent for an oncoming flux in the fabric of the universe, heralding his part in a crisis only he can solve. Hopping down from the counter he huffs. "Todd, regardless of my  _feelings_ ," Dirk makes air quotes with his fingers, sarcastically, "it's going to happen either way. We both _know_ that."

Still, Todd gives him a worried look. He always does that when Dirk says anything that implies he feels no control over the direction his life is going in. Dirk isn't up to assuring Todd he thinks otherwise, so he only squeezes Todd's shoulder affectionately, then lifts a fist to bump knuckles with Farah.

"You do need to be careful," Farah warns, and while that's something Dirk both already knows and wants to tell them in return, it's also something he's still not used to people saying to him, so he only nods as his throat tightens up, smiles tensely, gives them both a set of thumb's up, and then exits the kitchen before Farah or Todd can call him out for the fear building in his throat.

As Dirk walks down the hallway leading to the front office, he swallows heavily and shakes his arms out, until his breathing feels more regular. Opening the door that separates the living space from the operational side of the agency, he finds no trace of Mona in the office, only Michael, who is sweeping the wooden floor with a broom. Michael startles when Dirk calls his name, and looks up like he's done something wrong.

"Um, oh, I just," Michael says, as he holds the broom close to his chest. "No one said what to -" He appears to catch himself, perhaps realizing he is no longer in a subservient position, so does not need to seek orders anymore. Shaking his head, he corrects, "I-I just thought I'd help... clean?"

Distantly aware he finds this amusing, Dirk lifts an eyebrow and walks over to his desk, beside which Michael is standing with the broom. Jumping to sit on the corner of the desk, Dirk leans towards Michael to say, "Tell me, you wouldn't _happen_ to know where Mona is at this present moment in time, would you?"

Michael stands there, gripping the broom with white-knuckled hands as though he's afraid there's a wrong answer to this question. "I did? I don't know anymore. I thought she went to eat."

Dirk gestures to the broom Michael is holding and says, "Well, seeing as you're unaware, I have to tell you this: we don't own one of those yet."

Michael gasps loudly and holds the broom out far from his chest. "Oh my god," he whispers, in a choked-off voice. His eyes get very wide, and his mouth gets very small as he presses his lips together. "I didn't mean to use her for-"

"Oh, don't worry about that." Dirk waves a hand to dismiss Michael's reaction, then accepts the broom as Michael hands it to him like it's made of glass. "Mona likes to live an expansive life." Dirk carefully lays the broom that is Mona down on the desk beside him, then plants his palms on his knees. "She would never have allowed anything she was not _wholly_ okay with."

Michael does not quite seem to believe this. He looks at the broom with wide eyes before looking up at Dirk. "Cleaning helps me stay calm," he says, and he does, in fact, seem steadier than he was before. He's also wearing a thick, gray hoodie that Dirk recognizes as Todd's, which indicates at least one conversation has taken place between the two men when Dirk was asleep, apparently during which Todd had figured out that Michael was cold. Michael had shivered in the van the whole drive here, even with the heater on and with a blanket over his body, so Dirk is not entirely surprised by this.

Trying very hard to ignore the tension that is still inside his chest, Dirk smiles softly at Mona as the broom beside him. "She probably figured that out about you," he says, while patting the handle lightly. "She's quite perceptive." He then tilts his head. "Are you staying here?"

Michael seems perplexed by the question. "Well, you... asked me to, so... yes?" He does not sound upset about this, only nervous that he might have interpreted something wrong.

Dirk adds, "Obviously, you're seeking a place to hide. I meant _how long_ can you stay _here_?"

"Oh, um," Michael scratches behind his ear with his thumb, "I didn't think too much into it. I guess as long as you want, if I'm allowed? But I thought you only wanted me here just for a specific purpose."

Dirk pulls both of his legs into a crossed position under him, then leans his head on one hand. The feeling in his chest of oncoming doom is becoming harder and harder to ignore, but he's honestly having trouble telling how much of it is a universal mandate, and how much is his own trauma response from just... existing. They've been getting tangled together somewhat alarmingly lately. Pretty much all he can tell is that it's not Michael causing this, just the simple passage of time moving closer to an incendiary event of currently nondescript, yet potentially alarming magnitude.

Irritated by his own lack of ability to translate the fuzzy and nondescript language of the universe, even as it gets soundlessly screamed through him, Dirk huffs a sigh. "A conversation with my friends has led me to conclude that I may ipso facto be in need of more than a single day to work through my... experiences. Quite to my abject annoyance, I'm inclined to agree." Dirk's not sure if it's bitterness, the overwhelming sense of something coming, or merely relief to confess something without consequence that makes him add, "Perhaps you won't be surprised to hear that I've been doing badly lately, and I want that to stop."

Michael winces and looks down, takes a slow breath, and then looks back up. "That's fair," he says, in a weak but sincere tone. He tugs at the sleeves of his borrowed gray hoodie, and then, while looking to the side, he says, "I do have... something at home. Though I don't know if it's safe to get it."

"Your medication?" Dirk guesses, even as he figures Farah probably has some sort of connection for that, if needed, only Michael shakes his head.

"No. Well, yes, I guess that, too, but I... um. I have a pet."

Dirk blinks, lifts his head from his palm, and leans back. "A pet?" This throws Dirk off guard from his internal unease in a strange way, and he realizes that, beyond a sense of envy for normalcy during his own torture sessions, he's scarcely ever considered the idea of a Blackwing employee having something so average about them.

Appearing guilty to even bring it up, Michael says, in a soft and quiet voice, "A hamster, named Poppy. I always give her extra food, because sometimes I have problems with waking up, but...  " Whatever he's about to say there gets physically swallowed back down. Looking at his feet, he shuffles in place and then says with a shrug, "I don't... even know how long she can-" Pausing again, he lifts a hand to push back his hair, which seems to be an attempt to soothe himself, for his fingertips press against his scalp for several seconds before he lowers his hand and resumes picking at the ends of his sleeves. His hands are once again trembling slightly, and his jaw clenches sporadically before he says, "I know now that I should've brought her with me, but I didn't know until yesterday that I'd need to."

Instead of replying, Dirk feels something very sharp and immediate interrupt as a stabbing sensation through his chest, and as he jumps down from the desk, he takes a breath so hard and fast that it startles Michael into silence.

Nervously, Michael looks behind himself, through the wall-length windows about a meter away that are lining the side of the detective agency, where Dirk's attention has been yanked.

"Oh no," Dirk whispers, before he even knows what he's about to see. As he stares out the windows, he sees the first glimpse of what he's been feeling: an ordinary, pale blue sky, suddenly bleeding orange at the center like a giant cigarette has been snuffed out against it, and then the orange flaring outwards, like fire, eating the sky. The light inside the detective agency plummets to red in seconds, all of the blue in the sky disappearing, and he hears Todd and Farah cry out in alarm from the kitchen. There is a bright streak of white inside the red then, glowing gold around the edges as it hurtles down from the atmosphere. As enormous as a cathedral, saucer-shaped, and rocketing through the red sky, the apparent spaceship is on an obvious collision course.

Michael jolts backwards in alarm, both of his hands covering his mouth. His shoulder rams into Dirk's and he spins around in recoil, reaching to catch Dirk in case he's knocked him over, except he hasn't. Dirk's still standing in horror as the sky seems to catch on fire as far as he can see, and a squeal of metal starts to hum through the air, growing ever louder and more painful in the ears. The ship outside is spinning out of control, while the ground under their feet in the detective agency is rumbling, causing chairs and doors to clatter and jump around like living objects. Dirk can hear Farah shouting at Todd to get into the hallway, but her voice is swallowed up by the increasingly deafening sound of the metallic hum.

In a burst of fire, the building-sized ship plummets past streets and hills, the very light of it causing everything around it to carry a red hue, and streaks far, far away at an incredible speed, before crashing seemingly miles away in a devastating explosion of white light and noise, which shoots up so much sparks and dirt that it is visible even here.

Michael shrieks and swears very loudly, just as Dirk watches the windows all stretch and bend inwards, like taffy.

 _Shockwave_ , Dirk's mind supplies for him, just as the windows all burst into a million deadly shards and fly towards them. He grabs the back of Michael's collar, even as he knows it's way too late to run, and screams as he falls to the floor with him, vaguely in the direction of the desk.

The sound of glass hitting every wall is a horror beyond describing: bright, tinkling and then crushing sounds like gunshots in the thousands, slicing through plaster like it's paper, thunking hard against wood and destroying everything in sight. A wall has grown up before Michael and Dirk as they lie on the floor, covering their faces in the resulting shadow, and the wall stays there long after the glass has stopped flying towards them and only rolls around in sparkling, spinning arcs against the ground.

Gradually, the red of the sky fades back into its usual blue, and the awful, eardrum-shaking metallic hum is replaced by a loud, shrill ringing in Dirk's own ears. On his back and surrounded by broken bits of furniture and hand-sized chunks of glass all over the ground, Dirk kicks his legs free from where they'd gotten tangled with Michael's.

"Mona," Dirk gasps, his entire body shaking. The wall that had sprung up between the shattering glass and both Dirk and Michael's bodies is absolutely covered in stab wounds now: thousands of glass shards poking into the hastily-formed brick and mortar, only some of the glass shards falling free from it in the aftershock, along with some of the brick having fallen from the rest of the wall, too. He runs to put his hands on the wall that is Mona, even though he does not know what he can do to help. " _Mona!_ " he yells, loudly.

"Dirk!" he hears called out from the hallway, from both Farah and Todd's voices. "Michael?" at least one of them adds, as they scramble into the room and start slipping on the glass. Michael is crawling to his feet, looking at both of his hands, then at the new wall in the detective agency, then at Dirk, who is slumping to his knees in front of the wall and still shouting Mona's name.

 _There's so much glass in her_ , and Dirk's sure she's fine, she has to be fine, she has to be fine. He's never seen bits of her falling off in another state before, but she's fine, she's _fine_ , she's _fine_. He's having trouble breathing as he yanks the glass out of her with his bare hands, anywhere he can reach on the giant wall that she's become, still towering and casting a shadow on the interior of the detective agency.

" _Dirk_ ," Todd yells, and suddenly both his arms and someone else's are wrapped around Dirk, and they're dragging him backwards. There's blood following him on the ground, and pain slicing up his hands as glass falls from his bleeding fists. He's yelling without quite knowing what he's yelling, and the wall is full of glass, and Michael is on one of his arms, and Todd is on the other, and Farah is wrapping her hands up with the leather jacket she's removed and walking towards the wall that is Mona, where she starts yanking out the glass in her as fast as she can, with her hands far more protected than Dirk's had been.

"Can she be hurt?" Dirk hears someone scream, and he's horrified to realize it's him, and that of them, he's the one most likely to have an answer, but he _doesn't have one_ , and the wall that is Mona is full of glass, and he's being dragged backwards, over _more glass_ , and his blood is getting everywhere because you're not supposed to wrap your bare hands around broken glass, but he had, because he hadn't thought to remove his jacket, like Farah, hadn't _thought_ at all, just _acted_ , and -

"There's nowhere to sit him down," Dirk hears Michael gasp in a panicked tone, as their bodies spin, but Todd steadies them all.

"Just _don't let him fall_ ," Todd responds, as he breathes heavily against Dirk's side. "The ground is _covered_ , and... Michael, can you... you have to _hold him_." Dirk is jostled to the side. He feels Michael shakily drag one of Dirk's arms over his shoulders as Todd transfers all of Dirk's weight onto him, then Michael's other hand pushing against Dirk's collarbone to keep him from pitching forward. Dirk is finding it very hard to stand up.

Dirk stares for a second at the ground as he spins on his feet, light-headed and staring at his bleeding hands, realizing his knees are cut and bleeding, too. Michael is cursing a lot as he keeps stumbling backwards, though not with any real direction, as nowhere seems to be all that safe to stand. Todd strips out of his denim jacket, wrapping his hands with it as he runs to help Farah get the glass out of the wall that is Mona.

"Don't you _dare_ change back until we're done," Dirk hears Todd say to the wall, in a shaking voice. "Do you hear me, Mona? Don't you _dare_. You _wait_ for us. You _wait_ until it's all gone."

They're not even trying to make the pile of glass they're removing from her look neat, just yanking the glass out of the brick and mortar and hurling it to the ground around their feet. Farah's not speaking as she works, her face set into a stony, fearful expression. She keeps glancing at some of the broken bits of brick on the ground that are _definitely_ not the same color as any other part of this building, and she keeps swallowing, and beside Dirk, Michael's chest is heaving, because he's hyperventilating, but he's still not letting Dirk fall to the ground. They stumble backwards in the cold air pouring through the complete lack of windows in the building, hearing the sounds of car alarms and screaming pouring in from outside. Dirk only now realizes they've lost electricity, because the only lights are coming from outside, but it's bright enough with the normalized sunlight to hardly notice.

"Mona," Dirk gasps, reaching for her. He almost falls, the sole of his leather shoe slipping over glass, and Michael pulls him back. All of the glass is almost out of the wall that is Mona now: Todd has climbed onto the splintered desk beside her to reach for the glass shards in all the higher places, and Farah is circling to the other side of the wall to make sure they're not missing any pieces. Farah is also grouping together as much of the brick on the ground that is the same color as the rest of the wall together in a pile in front of the wall itself.

Michael keeps cursing under his breath, in an increasingly panicked tone of voice that still does nothing to weaken his grasp on Dirk's arm and the front of his chest. It's only the rawness of Dirk's throat that alerts him to the fact that he's still shouting things, too, but no one's answering him. They're too busy getting glass out of the wall that sprung up in the detective agency to keep Dirk from dying under that same rain of broken glass. Dirk's vision is blurring, rapidly.

There's a crumbling, sliding sound, like an avalanche of boulders, and the part of the wall that had fallen off starts to drag itself up to the rest of itself. Farah has to jump over one of the crumbling, broken bricks as it does so, and Todd yanks out one final shard of glass before the wall is no longer a wall, and Mona is midair in her human form and free-falling backwards.

Farah catches Mona before she hits the ground, so that Mona slumps backwards with her arms on either side of Farah's bent knees, lying limp on the ground, and Dirk breaks free from Michael's grip to run over to them. Meanwhile, Todd climbs down from the desk, and Michael stumbles over to press a hand to the center of Dirk's back, snatching up a part of Dirk's jacket to keep him upright.

On Farah's lap, Mona lies quietly on her back, with her eyes closed. There is a bloom of red draining from Mona's limp, right upper arm, where a glass shard still is, but it seems to be the only one left in her.

"Do we leave it in?" Todd stammers, "That's what you're supposed to do when someone's stabbed, and, and--"

Dirk shouts over him, "She's not like us! Get it _out_ so she can heal!"

Farah doesn't waste time. She grips the glass shard and yanks it free. On her lap, Mona jerks, her eyes shooting open in obvious pain and her mouth widening in a silent scream. With her undamaged arm, Mona reaches to touch the damaged one, and before their eyes, the flesh heals below her palm, sealing together and becoming whole. Her mouth closes, and she swallows.

For a moment, she seems okay, and quietly lays on her back on the ground, upper half still supported by Farah's knees, but then Mona's face twists in fear, and she reaches up. "Dirk," she gasps, clearly scared. She's no longer injured, but blood stains her sleeve all the same.

Mona's lying in the space where she protected Dirk and Michael from getting hit by glass, so there is nothing dangerous on the ground when Dirk falls to his knees beside her and bends over to wrap both of his arms around her shoulders, his face burying against her neck. Mona's own arms, completely undamaged now, wrap just as tightly around him. She's crying, he thinks, at least a little. Her body is shaking from it. She is gasping in fear.

"Mona," he whispers, as his body shakes. She's as close to family as he's ever had, and she could've just _died_ to protect him. He feels Farah slipping backwards, pushing Mona into a sitting position in front of Dirk on the floor, where he can't stop clinging to her, and she keeps clinging to him, their arms wrapped around each other like a vice.

"Dirk's hands," Todd says, from somewhere above them. "He's bleeding." Dirk can't see Todd because his face is buried against Mona's shoulder, and her face against his, her tears making his shirt wet, and probably his doing the same to her dress, too.

"His knees, too," Michael says, and he sounds shaky. "He knelt when he was taking the glass out." The glass where Michael is crunches a little, like he's turning around to stare outside the window. He whispers something to himself, something that sounds like, _"Aliens?"_ but is too softly spoken to be sure about.

"Yeah," Todd answers, though, "it looks like that. It's a first for me, but I'm not surprised."

"I'm getting the first aid kit," Farah says, her voice being the most solid of all of theirs.

Dirk hears her run from the room over glass, and he keeps holding onto Mona with all he's got. Eventually, Dirk feels a hand land on his back, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Todd kneel beside him on the ground.

"She's okay," Todd says, while lightly rubbing his hand up and down Dirk's shoulder blades. "You're okay, Dirk. You're okay, too. You're both okay."

Dirk is ashamed to acknowledge how badly he needed to hear that, because his entire body feels like it's having a nervous breakdown.

Another set of legs walks around to stand behind Mona, and then crouches there. Michael almost puts his hand on Mona's shoulder, but then withdraws it. He instead covers his face with both hands and, while bending over, he breathes into his hands. Maybe he was trying to offer comfort and then thought he shouldn't. Maybe he just got overwhelmed. It's hard to say. He gets up a moment later with a mumbled curse and walks away.

Dirk doesn't see him until a minute or so later, when Farah and Michael both come back with first aid equipment, Farah with most of it and Michael balancing a bright purple mixing bowl full of water.

"Apparently, he knows basic emergency aid," Farah whispers to Todd over Dirk's shoulder. "It was a certification thing." Todd nods, but does not stop rubbing at Dirk's back as Michael kneels beside Mona and asks her, quietly, if she would move to the side a little.

Instead, Mona turns around in Dirk's arms and leans her back against his chest. With Dirk's arms now hanging over Mona's shoulders, he can see the blood dripping down from cuts on his hands and onto her dress, which he thinks should bother him a lot more than he feels presently able to access, because he's so relieved she's even _here_ that he can't get himself to think very far beyond that at all. Mona helps hold his hands up as Michael winces at the injuries on Dirk's palms.

Dirk almost says something to defend his actions and the harm they led to, but instead he says nothing as Michael's hands - now steady for the first time since Dirk saw him at the motel - lightly wrap around the backs of Dirk's hands to inspect them. Then he touches Dirk's knees, one after the other to check the injuries there, before returning to Dirk's hands.

"Um, knees just s-seem to need pressure," Michael says, with a trace of unsteadiness still in his voice, which has gotten a bit higher as he gestures widely at Farah. "I'm gonna need something put against them while I treat his hands."

Farah prepares a few more rags for that, while Michael tends to Dirk's injured hands for several minutes. The whole time, Michael does not seem calm, his fractured breathing patterns being the biggest indicator of this, but every move he makes to apply medical care is still fairly steady, as though all his focus is centering on getting it right. He keeps looking at Mona, perhaps checking to see if she's okay, too, but Mona seems too shell-shocked to speak, and simply leans back against Dirk's chest as she helps hold Dirk's hands up for Michael's administrations.

"So... was that a... UFO?" Todd mumbles, probably to Farah, but possibly to anyone. "I mean, you saw that. You had to have. The whole sky turned _red_."

Michael huffs out a loud and somewhat frantic sigh, like the kind given by someone who's been told he can't pick up his dry cleaning because the dry cleaning place has been swallowed by a sinkhole: irritating, but ultimately something you can't blame the business for. It's followed up by a nervous laugh, which Michael almost immediately tamps down, perhaps because he realizes it makes him sound like the start of someone going insane. Dirk supposes that's a normal reaction from someone who's gone through a traumatic experience, after already having been in the throes of a panic attack for seemingly many hours, and not even having the medication he needs to deal with it properly. As Dirk's own heart rate is still calming down, he elects not to mention it.

Todd stands up from Dirk's side, abruptly. "I'm getting a radio. I need to know what happened, see if the news has anything to say about this yet."

Farah, meanwhile, stays standing a few paces away from Dirk, her arms crossed as she looks across the damaged agency and the glass all over the ground. Mona seems to notice Farah's distress, and as Mona tenses in Dirk's arms, Dirk puts his chin down on her shoulder to hold her in place.

"Please don't turn back into a broom," he says, as his teeth chatter in his jaw. "Please don't touch the glass."

She goes still against him again, with a nod. "Okay," she says, "If you don't want me to, I won't."

Soft cotton wrap goes lightly around Dirk's palms, lacing through his fingertips carefully and pressing against the skin of his wrists. Michael seems to concentrate on nothing else for several minutes, until finally he swallows and says, in a shaky voice, "Thank you."

Dirk isn't quite processing things as he should, for it takes Mona nodding for Dirk to realize the comment was directed at her. He can't even really feel the pain in his hands or knees, even though he can feel the frantic pounding of his heart in his still-ringing ears. _Shock_. He is definitely in shock. The physical pain is going to come later, he is quite sure of it.

"I didn't want either of you to die," Mona says, in a soft, gentle voice, as Michael lowers Dirk's hands, now fully-wrapped, to help add to the light pressure on Dirk's knees. "I knew I could stop it, so I did!"

Crouching in front of them for a moment more, Michael looks her in the eye for a long, painful second, and then says, "Well, please, if you ever choose to do that for anyone again, maybe turn into something, uh..." His voice gets a little higher, almost shrill as he says, "I don't know, something that... that can't... fall. Fall apart. Because I thought, I-I mean... seeing all the pieces, we _all_ thought-"

Michael then stands up far more abruptly than Todd had, like someone has threatened to set him on fire. With a peal of nervous laughter, Michael sways, then gestures wildly at Farah. "Oh, okay," He laughs shrilly, and nervously, and turns around, shaking, "I'm, I'm, I am about to vomit. Or pass out. Actually, I'm not sure. Both? Maybe. I'm... I'm, wow, I am not okay, oh my god. Excuse me."

Without waiting for a reply, he runs down the unlit hallway, towards the bathroom.

Left behind in the wake of what seems to have been a devastating, extraterrestrial crash, Dirk ducks his face down on Mona's shoulder, and tries to tell himself, again and again:

_She's not dead. You're not leaving a trail of dead people. She's not dead.  
_

The very thing Dirk had felt the approach of has gotten here, much faster than he had thought it would, and whether he's ready for what comes next or not, all he can do is live through it.

But right now, before anything else can happen, he thinks he needs to just sit here and breathe for a minute first.

 

~TBC

[2018.03.26] 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [If you want to talk to BBC America about how much you want them to bring back Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency for a season 3, you can contact them here and tell them all about what the show means to you. BBC America is a smaller cable station, and they should listen to people who want a show with a canon gay lead and multiple LGBT characters in positive, uplifting roles](http://www.bbcamerica.com/contact-us/).


End file.
